


This is my place

by Srututu_Banana



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, Reflection, Self-Reflection, Temporary Character Death, i don't know if it's a graphic description of dead body but still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 13:26:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17325851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Srututu_Banana/pseuds/Srututu_Banana
Summary: Miranda muses on her work on the Lazarus Project.Takes place at the beginning of ME2.





	This is my place

**Author's Note:**

> Let's say Shepard is an average looking woman in this.  
> I hope you'll enjoy the fic.

This is my place, at this station, in this room.  
The light is cold and sterile, nothing can hide from it. There are no secrets within the corpse lying on the table of steel. No soul, no hidden spark, it's hardly even a body - just dead meat, bare and ugly as truth. Muscle, bone, fluids, all crashed, mashed together. The space is cruel, the death lacks dignity.  
No promises yet. That’s just the beginning, an empty canvas for me.  
  
This is my bathroom, it’s a privilege to have my own.  
There is a mirror just above the sink. Sharp-edged and clean, I can see myself in the reflection perfectly. I have a nice, regular face, I have lovely eyes, I have cheekbones “to die for”. I’m aware of them, after all I’ve heard others telling me these things all over again. Sometimes in the middle of the night right into my willing ear. Also, of course I do have eyes on my own.  
…But when I look into the mirror I can only see how tired they are and the half-awake fear deep, deep inside of them.  
  
This is my bedroom, my bed and those are my sheets on it.  
They are smooth and smell of nothing. I lie in them sometimes, a photo in one hand, a glass in another. Today is the first time I can make a connection between the body on the table and the actual, living person – they have the same face. The mouth – a thin line, the eyes – plain and without charm, the eyebrows irregular – a nasty scar running directly through the left one.  
But there is a story behind this face, the uncontrolled force and I don’t want to risk getting my work destroyed by it. A small chip should do the trick.  
  
This is me, my body, my eyes.  
And they watch the other woman carefully. It has begun on the steel table but went far beyond it and I have to remind myself firmly that the table had ever existed. I thought I knew her. I saw her guts, after all, what can be more intimate than that? I know her face, her eyes and her voice. I’ve seen her, I’ve heard her on the recordings for countless times. But this is the first time she looks me in the eyes, her gaze piercing.  
And there is a promise in it. Something begins there. It bothers me I cannot grasp it now. Yet.


End file.
